


any change in time

by averagefaces



Category: 2PM (Band)
Genre: M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 19:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averagefaces/pseuds/averagefaces
Summary: junho wakes up in 2008.





	any change in time

**Author's Note:**

> published april 2014. revised march 2017. reposted january 2019.  
> this is a work of fiction, no harm intended to any parties involved. please do not repost/copy or translate without permission; you're welcome to share this link. thank you for reading!

 

jay looks up and frowns, says, "you're hiding something from us, aren't you," and junho winces, his whole body on alert because talking to jay is not something he does  _ now _ —more like,  _ then _ .

so he looks away, scratches at the back of his neck with a sweaty hand and bites the inside of his lip before answering. "it could  _ change  _ stuff—i don't know what to tell you that won't—this is all so  _ weird _ ," is what he says, and plays dumb when nichkhun huffs from across the table, that sound he makes when he's annoyed and tired.

junho sighs, years older than the bunch sitting around him and looking at him like he's come from another planet—and  _ that  _ would be a very interesting theory right now—and it makes him feel a bit guilty, like somehow, deep down this is all his fault.

-

chansung approaches him first because that's what he does—whatever the situation at hand, chansung is  _ always  _ the first one to try and  _ understand _ , try and fix things if things needs fixing. right now,  _ everything  _ needs to be freaking fixed and junho wonders if chansung has realized that, that everything is so fucked up there seems to be no solution at all, no matter how much they all wish otherwise.

junho focuses on the comforter under his fingertips, traces the loops and curls of its print. tactile memory is a thing, apparently, because junho remembers  _ stuff  _ while he's at it, remembers the way he clung to it during the night, especially after calling his mom. he remembers attempting to write poems and rhymes, trying to sing them afterwards wondering if they'd ever make a song. (he remembers jerking off, too, but that's not something he's going to look too deeply into, especially with chansung in the room and barely off eighteen. junho knows where to draw the line.)

when he looks up—the room is just as he remembers, too, the white walls and the mj posters and jay's clothes thrown all around, pants piled under his bed—chansung's sitting at the edge of the bed, hands on his knees while he just looks at junho like he knows him but also like he's doesn't, and that's something that cuts deep, all things considered.

"what happens with jay?" is what he opens with, and  _ damn  _ chansung and his brain and his ability to put two and two together better than anyone else can in this freaking apartment floor.

junho licks his lips, deflects. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"after you woke up, you said 'you're still here'." damn him, seriously, he's going to be too smart for his own good—for everyone's. he's frowning, not the deep-concerned-worried kind of frown that junho sometimes eases away with his thumbs and a lame-ass joke; it's the one that says he's not playing dumb and he's figuring shit out faster than junho can come up with lies to throw him off the radar. "and you've been staring at him, like you can't believe he's here, like you haven't seen him in  _ years _ ."

junho shakes his head. "it's nothing."

"i'm not stupid," chansung presses on, and junho grinds his teeth, his jaw clenched and his fists clutching at the blanket while his brain wracks itself for a half-assed lie.

"never said you were," he answers calmly, and looks away when chansung raises his eyebrows. "not too often, at least."

chansung smiles a small smile and says nothing else, choosing instead to inspect his fingers. they stay silent for a while, enough for junho to draw his legs closer to his body and hug his knees against his chest, tight, tighter until he's driving the panic away.

it's been two days, two fucking days of this and he's getting tired. tired of being scrutinized like a stranger; and he supposes he is: this is 2008, it's not 2014, jay's still hanging around, they barely have enough room in this tiny-ass apartment, and—the cherry on top of the fucking time-travelling-ice cream—he has no clue how to send himself back. or where his now-him is. (thankfully whenever they ask something, they look half concerned about asking the right questions because they've all watched syfy movies and altering the future is not something they want their hands on—conscious or not.)

"you look grown up," chansung says quietly, and he's still watching his hands on his jeans-clad thighs, his fingers flexing slightly.

the thing is, by this point, right in this time-frame or whatever this whole thing is, junho knows him better than he probably should. in the future—things are different there. and junho doesn't know how to go back to this, to this chansung that looks so young and happy and naïve. they haven't been young and happy and naïve in too long.

"i mean," chansung adds when junho just stares because what is he supposed to say,  _ sorry i grew up? couldn't help it? _ "you look more—mature. like you've gone through things? good and bad, i mean. you just—you look different." he smiles a bit, tentative. "and your hair is purple, man. and you're, like,  _ thin _ ."

"they put us through lots of diets." that can't hurt. he's pretty sure they're going through the 'let's get you buffer, guys!' phase right now. "it's a pain in the ass, to be honest."

chansung smiles sideways, "preach to the choir." he wiggles around a little until he's sitting against the wall, his position mirroring junho's, hugged knees and all. he looks contemplative, the way he looks when he's reading nietzsche and plato and—his words, not junho's— _ something doesn't add up _ . his cheek on top of his knee, he asks, "how many albums so far?"

junho bites his tongue before he has a chance to say, "uh, korean or japanese?" because what if it's too much sharing and it fucks up things for them, the future-them, he can't put that on now-(past?)-them and  _ fuck _ , this always gives junho the biggest headache. he's had eleven so far and it's only been forty eight hours of mayhem.

"i'm not sure i—" he says, and chansung nods, quickly, says, "yeah, i know, sorry, forget it."

they go back to silence, stealing glances at each other when they think the other one isn't looking and—and it's a lot like the now, furtive glances and furtive touches, everything so secretive it makes junho feel the thrill right back in his bones where there should be none—not anymore. he can feel it in the air between them, the few feet of distance make it all the more obvious because as much as junho's been reminding himself he's six years older, jesus christ, chansung is still there, looking like he does and smiling like he always does and junho is only made of flesh and bone, can't help the way he feels and wants and  _ longs _ .

chansung clears his throat, and there's that look in his eyes that's pure determination and i-give-zero-fucks and junho isn't ready to see that, yet, especially not directed at him.

"do we—do we still—? i mean—are we still—"

junho swallows thickly, rubs his calves and looks down at the comforter, his brain going a mile a second trying to figure out the best way to say  _ no, we don't, we aren't, not anymore, and i miss you, and i know you miss me, but what do i do, what can i do, what do you  _ want  _ me to do _ .

it takes him too long to come up with something—anything.

"ah," chansung says, quiet and small and hurt, and junho desperately tries to find something to say—whatever it takes to not break chansung's heart.

not here, too.

he comes up empty, though, and chansung doesn't push it, just murmurs he's got stuff to do and leaves, and the emptiness spreads, claws at junho's throat from the inside and lodges itself there until he's wheezing against his knees, quiet and small and hurt.

-

"but what happened? before you—i mean—"

"i don't know," junho says, shrugging at taecyeon's frowned brows.

nichkhun drums his fingers on the table. "so, you just. went to sleep one night and were here when you woke up."

"basically," junho nods.

"you jumped six years into the past in your sleep," taecyeon summarizes.

"apparently," junho mutters.

they're sitting around the small table they have, the one that separates the kitchen from the living room. taecyeon breaks it before christmas, trips over a stray book and brings the whole thing down, wood and splinters splattered all over the carpet.

chansung clears his throat. "i've been doing some reading," he says, and junho smiles despite himself, because that's what chansung does, always.

-

this wooyoung is sharper than he has any right to be, and junho should've seen it sooner—the narrowed eyes and pursed lips and the calculating stare.

"i have a theory," is what wooyoung says as he opens the door to junho-and-jay's room (that for some unsurprising reason has become just-junho's room for the past four days; at least junho is glad no one bothers him all the time) and leans against the closet door, hands crossed over his chest.

"whatever the year it is you came from, jay isn't a part of it—us—anymore."

if junho thought chansung was trouble, wooyoung is the fucking apocalypse.

"you don't have to say yes or no, i'm just talking to myself here."

junho looks up from the book he's reading (or rereading, more like, because he's read  _ king lear _ seven times already) and holds wooyoung's gaze as calmly as he can. "you sound crazy." he hopes wooyoung catches the double entendre there, more to their sake than junho's.

wooyoung snorts, raises an eyebrow and tilts his chin in junho's direction. "crazier things have happened."

junho sighs and decides it's better if he just ignores him, goes back to the book and tries to tune wooyoung out.

"what if you're supposed to change that," wooyoung says, serious as ever, tone devoid of any emotion for junho to even think he's joking. he makes no sound of acknowledgement, though, keeps his eyes fixed on the page he's on. "we've watched movies about this, junho," is what wooyoung says next, and now he sounds exasperated, like junho's being the stubborn one here, "dumbledore told hermione she needed to change things, remember?"

"she didn't, though," junho snaps, and shuts the book closed, sits up straight. "it was all a loop. they didn't save buckbeak, he wasn't the one in danger. there was no mysterious werewolf in the forest trying to save harry, it was hermione and harry, from the fucking future. it wasn't james saving harry, either, it was harry saving himself."

wooyoung smirks sideways, and something like recognition crosses his eyes, his posture becoming less stiff and guarded as he gives room to a more relaxed stand. like he's with a friend rather than with a dude who's time-travelled his way to their old apartment.

"you told me that last week," he says. "the real you, i mean."

"i'm real, too," junho says, and if he sounds dejected, it's only the exhaustion and the helplessness in his body.

wooyoung watches him for a minute before he quietly makes his way out.

-

jay corners him after dinner. it's day eight. there hasn't been any activities on their agenda, and junho is grateful because he has no clue how to play eighteen anymore, doesn't think he could pull it off even if he tried. besides, the growth spurt and the purple hair would be a bitch to explain.

jay—he looks stern, and it takes a moment for junho to remember him, actually remember him. he's the same, looks the same and dresses the same, like the last junho saw of him, and it hurts, all over again, because going through it once was hell but twice is just adding insult to injury.

they stare at each other for a while, and junho, even though he's an inch or two (possibly three) taller than him now, still feels small and young, even when jay's the one who's about to have his whole world shaken around him.

"when?" jay asks, and junho takes a step back, shaking his head, because fuck it if he knows where this is going, it doesn't mean he's going to let it happen without a fight. jay takes a step forward, eyes hard and jaw clenched. "when?" he asks again.

" _ no _ ," junho says, still shaking his head, trying to bat jay's words and questions away like he would a mosquito. "you don't— _ no _ —"

"don't try that shit with me," jay says, the motherfucking stubborn jackass he's always been. " _ when _ ." he's not asking anymore, he's  _ demanding _ .

junho stares at him, his mouth hanging open and useless, heart pounding in his chest. he swallows past the lump in his throat, flinches when jay takes another step forward. " _ please _ ," he begs, past the point of caring, because jay can't be  _ serious _ , can't be meaning what he's meaning right now, and junho feels  _ so lost _ , so fucking and utterly  _ lost _ . "please,  _ don't _ ."

"it's not your secret to keep, junho."

shaking his head, junho whispers, " _ stop _ ," and jay is suddenly so close, so  _ right there _ like he was once before, like he is right now for them, the ones here, not the ones there, and everything's so fucked up junho wants to scream.

"when?" jay asks again, a hand on junho's shoulder, warm, heavy, reassuring. "when does it happen?"

"not—not right now." junho is shaking. he feels wrecked from the inside out, exposed and broken, because he remembers what he said, afterwards, and jay doesn't know that, won't know for another year and a half and it makes junho feel like shit, to be standing here and being him the one to deliver this news. it sucks and the universe sucks.

"soon?" jay asks. he looks ashen, all of a sudden.

"no." junho steels himself, clenches his fists at his sides as he looks down at the floor and the foot of carpet in between their socketed ones. "about a year."

jay blows out some air, claps junho's shoulder heavily, "okay. okay, i see. wooyoung says—he said a lot of weird shit the other day involving dumbledore, and i was only paying, like, half the attention i usually pay to him when he talks."

"he said maybe i was sent back to change it," junho says slowly.

"but you don't think that's it." jay's eyes are searching and intense and junho doesn't have the guts to lie to him, not to his face, like this, so close and standing in the place they still call and will call home for another year, possibly more for them but less for jay.

so he says, "no, i don't."

"then maybe you weren't send to change something but to fix something else, right?" jay doesn't have any right to sound hopeful, or to give junho some hope of his own because junho's been thinking about it, about endgames and possibilities and what's already there that can't be changed.

the universe sucks with a capital s. in fact, it sucks in fucking caps-lock.

"maybe," he sighs. "i don't know."

jay nods but doesn't say anything else, and after a while of just standing there, he says he's going to hit the gym. as soon as the door closes behind him, junho rushes to the bathroom and lets dinner climb its way back up.

-

he doesn't expect chansung to come into the room well past midnight on day eleven.

they're talking more, all of them, and half of it is thanks to jay, who insists on movie nights even when taecyeon gets home at two am after a wardrobe fitting for a tv show. junho speaks as much as he has to, doesn't trust his brain-to-mouth filter anymore, not after his conversation with jay. maybe, if someone realizes he talks under pressure, they'll learn how to ask all the right questions while pushing at the right buttons. it's better for everyone if junho just keeps to himself.

of course chansung gives zero fucks about junho's resolutions. junho can't say he's surprised.

"you awake?" chansung asks.

junho's been rereading his old comics for the past two hours, and his bedside lamp is on. he's obviously awake, what is chansung playing at? "would you leave if i said no?"

"probably not," chansung is smiling now, has been smiling more. being quiet means junho can notice things now. "mind if i stay for a while?"

junho sits up on the bed, rolls his eyes as he wiggles and leans his back against the headboard. "i do, but i doubt you care," he says as chansung picks a blanket and wraps it around his shoulders and leans against the wall.

he's full-on grinning now, and it's like a punch in the kidney. "you know me so well," he says and—how  _ dare  _ him, seriously?

it's the replica of that other night, except now chansung's wearing pjs instead of jeans and junho is under the covers rather than sitting awkwardly on top of them. scratch that, it's still awkward, because chansung must catch the way junho tenses, and a bit of disappointment flashes through his eyes before he's looking calm again.

"or you used to, maybe, i don't know," he says.

"chansung—"

"i know you told jay something." chansung looks at him, biting around his lip. "he wouldn't tell me what, though."

"it's best if he doesn't," junho says, honest. "trust me."

"i do," chansung says, quick, like the words were just right at the tip of his tongue, and it  _ hurts _ , and it's too late for junho to feel like this, like the floor's shaking under his bed, his feet. chansung nods once, repeats, "i trust you."

junho doesn't—he doesn't know what to say. he tries a smile but his face is stiff, every muscle in his body going through shock. even his heart is having trouble keeping up with everything.

"no matter—" chansung hesitates before moving closer, and junho should tell him to stop, to stop right the fuck there because of personal space reasons, but his throat is unresponsive, and chansung is crawling closer still, saying, "no matter what happens, what i do or say—in the future i mean—i trust you."

chansung is kneeling next to him, his shoulder to the wall, and he's so close, almost like jay crowding in for answers, but it's entirely different—junho knows chansung can get closer, can throw caution to the wind and put his mouth and his hands on junho's skin, but it's—it's  _ twisted _ , to think about that right now, when this chansung is and isn't everything junho  _ wants _ , has been and will be, here and there.

junho has never been more conflicted in his life.

"do you trust me? right now, do you trust me?" chansung asks quietly, snapping junho back to reality. well—the reality he's currently been in for the past eleven days.

junho swallows, nods. "i do."

"do i trust you in the future?" it's even quieter than before, but cuts deeper than anything they've said so far.

he breathes in. "i don't know," he whispers, and shrugs, looking away. "haven't asked in a while."

"why not?"

they're whispering, eyes never leaving each other, and it's like magnetism—even here, even  _ now _ —because junho  _ feels  _ it, when chansung leans in closer, inch by agonizing inch. he can't remember the last time they were like this before it all got to be snapping comments and clipped words and slamming doors.

"that—i  _ can't  _ tell you that," junho says, shaking his head, not sure of who he's protecting here, chansung or himself. "it could—"

"change things, yeah." chansung's right there. "you know what a predestination paradox is?" he asks, lips barely moving. junho shakes his head at the same time chansung licks his lips, and he means it. "it's all very theoretical—but. time is said to be circular. so, like—" he breathes in deeply, and when he exhales, it reaches out and brushes against junho's jaw and why,  _ why  _ are they so close, junho can't—he just  _ can't _ . "if you're here, right here with me—which you are, obviously—there's a high chance future-me knew—knows?—about it. right now. the others, too."

junho—he's read about it. a little because the harry potter debacle was a big thing with wooyoung, but it happened long ago. junho hasn't dared to do any research now, scared he might come up with  _ you're stuck where you are, lee junho, you are royally fucked up. _

"i—yeah, i've read about that. once, years ago, i think." he looks away, takes a break from chansung's eyes and lips, picks at the comforter with his fingers and lets the loose fabric pool at his lap.

"it means you can't change anything," chansung says. his hand hovers uncertainly above junho's knee over the cover for about two seconds before there's pressure on junho's skin and bones, chansung's hand warm and gentle and familiar, so familiar junho  _ aches  _ from it.

"nothing's set in stone," junho replies, daring to look up at chansung once more, and he's—he's frowning, lips pursed.

"we're not talking about stones, damn it," he says, exasperated. "it's a loop. nothing you do here has an effect in the future."

junho frowns back, opens his mouth, "it doesn't explain—"

"shut up," chansung groans, heart-felt, and leans in until there's not enough room to talk.

the angle is weird. their teeth knock around for a bit, until junho gets on with the program— _ holy shit i am kissing an eighteen year old version of chansung holy shit shit shit shit _ —and starts to kiss back tentatively, clenching his hands around the blanket so he won't try to touch chansung, even if every cell in his body is screaming at him to  _ do it _ .

"i kissed you the other day, like, just before you—came," chansung says when he pulls away, but he's  _ just there _ , too, not too far but not close enough and junho aches when his eyes open and the first thing he catches sight of are chansung's pink cheeks and slick lips. "present-you. he freaked out. told me to never do it again."

he nods, remembers. "didn't mean it," he says, pulling away until his head knocks against the headboard. he looks at chansung in the eye. "he's—i was confused. but i didn't mean it."

"are you gonna freak out now?" chansung asks slowly.

junho shrugs a shoulder, helpless. "one of us should, don't you think? i'm making out with a past version of you; you're making out with a future version of me. god only knows what's happening with present-me and future-you."

"maybe they're making out, too," chansung says.

"if i'd gone to the future to make out with an older version of you, i think i'd remember," junho raises his eyebrows, looking down at where his knuckles are white over the covers, "i do remember getting sick with a fever for around a week, though—i mean. it could be it, right? me not remembering future-me had come back in time. i mean, according to your loop theory."

chansung frowns. "it's not  _ my  _ theory."

"you know what i mean."

"i don't," chansung says, and junho's head snaps back up. he looks dejected, confused and lost. "i don't know what you mean. i don't know what you  _ want _ ."

that—that sounds a lot like the last conversation they had. junho'd been furious that day, he remembers now. he can't remember what they were fighting about, though, or how it started, but the last thing chansung said before slamming the front door shut behind him was "i don't know what you want" and it was a testament to how bad junho'd fucked up that it hadn't been an "i don't know what you want  _ from me _ " because that would've been so much worse.

"i want  _ everything _ ," junho says, and he can feel the muscles in his face doing weird things as they turn into a grimace, his lips pulling at the corners when he doesn't feel like smiling at all. he's mostly trying to laugh at himself, all things considered. he draws his legs back, clings to his knees and drops his forehead on top of them. somehow, not looking at chansung makes it easier, never mind this isn't the chansung he should be telling this to. "i want  _ everything _ , you—us. everything in between. i want that."

the bed dips when chansung moves, when his hands find junho's and their fingers tangle. junho fights it back, the need and the urge and the  _ feelings  _ that are about to burst out of his chest, but chansung's closing in, junho can feel his body heat, the faint smell of aftershave he still uses six years later, and when chansung's mouth finds the skin behind his ear, when he breathes in and out and says, "i want that, too, everything, junho, i want  _ everything _ ," junho breaks apart at the seams, shuts every voice saying this is preposterous, asking how could chansung possibly know he wants that at eighteen, and instead tilts his head to the side as he tries to find chansung's mouth, his hands flying blind until he finds skin and holds on for dear life.

junho pulls him closer and chansung just moves, fits in the cradle of junho's thighs, one hand pushing at his knee, and then they're wiggling and moving and sliding junho down the headboard until his head hits the pillow. chansung's touching the side of his face, his jaw, tracing his fingers down his neck and curling them at his nape, and junho sighs with it, his whole body going liquid under chansung's. his own hands find the way around chansung's back—familiar, so familiar and yet so different because chansung is younger, less brawny—trace the wrinkles of his sleeping shirt one by one as they slide down, until the hem slips past junho's fingertips and he finds the smooth skin of chansung's back, warm and soft to the touch.

they're still kissing, and junho is a little lightheaded with it, doesn't know if he wants to pull away and breathe or drive further in and breathe through chansung. when chansung pulls away with a soft pant, junho opens his eyes to find him hovering just above him, his lips swollen and reddened and his eyes blown. they breathe loudly for a while, big gulps of air, and even through the haze of it, junho can feel chansung's half-hard cock snuggled against his, four layers of fabric too many between them.

that makes junho moan softly, his fingers digging and gripping at flesh. "wait," he manages to say when chansung's mouth goes to his neck, "chansung, wait—we should—"

"if you say we should stop i'm going to punch you," chansung says, voice muffled into junho's neck, his hands setting on junho's sides, squeezing gently.

"i wasn't gonna say that." junho breathes in deeply when chansung brushes his lips against the base of his throat, drags them across his neck and presses them gently on his pulse point. "i was going to say maybe we should get under the covers."

the responding grin he feels pressed to his neck makes his stomach flutter anxiously.

they pull and push until the covers are wrapped around them, chansung still half on top of him as he traces the hinge of junho's jaw with his lips, an arm braced next to junho's head while the other hand rests on his hip. junho just lies there and breathes through it, runs his hands up and down chansung's sides under his sleeping shirt, squeezes at his waist. this is what junho's been missing ever since everything went to shit—ever since there had to be appearances to be made and solos to lead and things were too much, felt too forced—the quiet, unhurried kissing, the soft touching, hands gentle and fingers tender.

and it's not—it's not entirely sexual, this. chansung is just kissing wherever he can reach with his lips and junho is holding onto him—in every way possible—tracing the skin under his fingertips slowly, reverently, because who knows if he's got the guts to fix whatever needs fixing once—if—he makes it back to the future.

as if sensing junho's tension, chansung pulls away and peers down at him, squeezes his hip. "Is everything okay?" he asks.

so does junho, every night before he goes to bed.

"i'm just thinking," he says, and it's not a complete lie. "you know, if what you said about the loops is true, then all of you know i came back in time for some weird-ass reason and have kept it from me all this time. what i was telling you about—me being out for days with a fever?" chansung hums a reply. "maybe that's how you cover it up."

chansung leans down and kisses the corner of his mouth. "would you rather we tell you, then?"

"i don't know," junho says, closing his eyes. "wouldn't change a thing, though, right?"

chansung hums again, drags his lips down junho's chin and over his adam's apple, and his body is moving, too, slowly and leisurely, setting shakes on junho's hands when they slide higher up chansung's sides and take his shirt with them.

"not really, no," he says quietly, and then he's stopping, stilling, his forehead resting in the crook of junho's jaw. "but it could help you fix the—your present."

junho blinks at the ceiling, swallows hard. it makes his chin bump against chansung's temple. he breathes in, licks his lips, breathes out, his thumb rubbing circles on the skin under chansung's ribs. "i don't know if you want me to do that," he says truthfully. "everything—things are complicated six years from now. we're not—it's not the same."

"why not?" chansung's hands are slipping under junho's t-shirt, warm fingertips skidding over the skin of junho's tummy. "what changed?"

junho shudders the closest chansung's fingers get to the hem of his pants, the steadier his touch gets. "we—" he licks his lips, one of his hands hitching chansung's t-shirt higher up until the pad of his thumb brushes across a nipple; chansung hisses, digs his nails on junho's hip. "we—we woke up one day and—realized things weren't like in the movies. it—everything was a lot harder than that."

chansung stills above him and junho thinks  _ well look who's fucked it up again, six years into the past, no wonder he hates you six years from now _ , but before he can apologize or say anything, really, chansung's surging back up, and he's gazing down at him like he's—hurt, disappointed, upset at himself and junho and everything hanging unresolved in between them, disbelieving like junho is taking the piss, but overall, he looks guilty, and it breaks junho from the inside out.

junho keeps the flinch from showing on his face when chansung takes his hands off him and instead brings his own to cup chansung's face. "it wasn't you. chansung—look at me—it wasn't your fault." chansung just looks down at him, his pupils moving quickly like he's figuring out if junho's lying or not. "i swear," junho promises.

chansung's eyes are shiny; it tugs at junho's heart. "but why—i mean—"

"i love you," junho whispers, stroking the top of chansung's cheek. "and i know you love me, too, but things—sometimes things don't work out the way we want them to, and we just—"

"give up." chansung's voice isn't hard or upset—he sounds resigned, like the fight's been sucked out of him, and he sags heavily, his body pressing junho deeper into the mattress.

junho nods, wobbly. "yeah." he swallows. "i'm sorry."

chansung's hands are braced on the pillows, next to junho's head. he sighs and his whole body shakes with it. "i don't want it to be like in the movies—that's. that's easy. easy is boring," he says, and he sounds stern, like he wants junho to believe it too even when he doesn't.

"yeah, but complicated is painful," junho whispers. he closes his eyes when chansung rests his forehead on top of his.

chansung's nose brushes along his, and his lips are close, warm and smooth. "i want it," he says without missing a beat, "i want you, us, everything in between. i want that, too. even if it's complicated. if you—if you want it, too, then i'm always going to. if you wanna fix it—if you still want to fix it in six years, so will i."

"okay," junho nods shakily, his heart stuttering when chansung's lips press to his, gently and cautious. "okay," he repeats when chansung pulls away only to dive back in. "i want that," he whispers when chansung's hands find themselves under junho's shirt again.

-

junho wakes up slowly, in stages. first his hands, fingers curling around his pillowcase, the pattern still familiar under his fingertips. his legs next, draws them closer to his body as he curls in on himself, cold under the heavy comforter thrown over his shoulder.

it dawns on him after a second of "mmm, warm bed, warm room, it smells nice," because back in 2008 his room smelled like doritos and junk food no one was allowed to eat but still hid under their beds when minjae wasn't looking. when he opens his eyes, it takes a while for him to be glad he's back where he's supposed to be, and only allows himself to feel disappointed for a while, a tiny, short moment of self-pitying and longing.

when he props himself up on his elbows and looks around, his bed is not a single and his room is not a cluttered mess of shoes and pants and shirts and extra beds. well, the mess is still right there but it's all junho's, that's his shit lying around on the floor and that's confirmation enough. he kicks the covers off slowly, his body numb and slightly sore from last night—junho doesn't even want to think about it, because technically last night was  _ six years ago _ , and that's enough of a headache all in and by itself—takes a moment to look around and sigh at the familiarity of  _ home. _

after a minute or two of simply sitting there, he decides to get out of bed, grabs a clean shirt from the pile on top of the desk and changes quickly. the pajama bottoms he's wearing look clean enough, so he doesn't bother with those.

he's got a hand on the doorknob when it hits him. has he been missing time here? did he just—disappear and no one noticed? did time freeze itself while junho wasn't here? was he 'down with a fever' again?  _ what the fuck happened to the last eleven days he spent stuck in the past? _

that's the most pressing question at the moment.

he pulls the door open and peeks out, the lights are dimmed low and it looks like it's barely past six am. the house is quiet—way too quiet lately, now that half of them have moved out—and junho takes a deep breath before venturing a step outside his room. he walks slowly down the hall, looking around intently, like someone's going to jump from behind a wall and scare the shit out of him. it's happened more often than not.

there's noise in the living room. rustling and muffled music and voices from the tv. when he walks in, chansung's lying on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and tucked under his legs, and he's asleep, lips parted and brows smooth. junho stands there for a little while, watching him quietly and trying to figure out what's different, what feels so out of place in his brain and his chest and his stomach, but comes up empty-handed and slightly nauseous.

he pads to the kitchen and sags against the fridge, its cold surface wonderful against the skin of junho's forehead. he breathes in deeply once, twice, pushes off it and reaches for a glass. his mouth is parched and he can taste bile already and it sucks, he shouldn't be feeling like this, upset to be back where he belongs.

he downs tap water as quickly as he can, leaves the glass in the sink.

maybe asking all the questions he wants answered is not the way to go about this. maybe that's unimportant and what does is lying right in front of him, tucked under a blanket that's six years old. when he returns to the living room, chansung has barely moved. he sits on the carpet near him, though, as silently as he can; grabs for the remote and mutes tv.

"hey," he whispers softly, one hand on chansung's bare forearm. "hey, wake up."

it takes some time, but eventually, chansung lets out an unhappy sound and a, " _ what _ ," as he blinks an eye open and then the other one. junho watches his face go through lots of emotions at once—first he's confused, brow lifting as he takes in his surroundings, and then he's focusing on junho, recognition and something else crossing his eyes as he props himself up on his elbows.

"i love you," junho says, squeezing at chansung's wrist, and he hopes he doesn't sound as crazy as he thinks he does, blurting this out of nowhere, "i loved you then, i love you now. it hasn't changed."

"junho—what—"

"shut up for a second," junho smiles tentatively, stands up and shoves at chansung's legs and blanket until he's lying back down again and he can carefully fit on top of him, pressed together from chests to knees. chansung doesn't push him away, just tucks a leg in between junho's, puts his hands on junho's waist. "it hasn't been easy. we've never been easy," he says, and chansung widens his eyes, opens his mouth, but junho shushes him. "no, i'm serious. it's not been easy. all these years—there have been times when it got to be too much."

chansung's looking at him quietly, eyes wide and expectant. junho goes on. "and i guess i was just—just waiting, i think, waiting for it to be easier, and when it didn't—i just. i just freaked out. but i just realized it's never going to be easy. you're you and—jesus fucking christ—i am  _ me _ , and we're trouble. and it's not—" he licks his lips, touches chansung's cheek tentatively, "it's not like in the movies, but—but i don't care. and i hope you don't either."

"i don't," chansung whispers. he tilts his face, kisses junho's palm. "i still stand by my point, easy is boring." junho smiles at this, and chansung goes on. "you know, i'd forgotten all about that—the time-travelling thing. until you dyed your hair. for a moment there i thought i'd dreamed about it. after you left no one talked about it. we still haven't—only nichkhun knows you've been gone."

"is that why you—is that why you read so much?" junho asks, stroking chansung's cheek carefully. "because you wanted to figure it out?"

chansung hums. "more than anything, i think i wanted to figure you out."

"any luck?" junho winces when chansung snorts. "i'm sorry. if i ever acted like a dick— whatever i did or said. i'm sorry."

"me, too," chansung says, his hand rubbing circles on junho's back. "i'm sorry i took you for granted and then got pissed when you weren't there just waiting." he props himself up, and the kiss is both unexpected and quick, is over before junho can get to respond it. "i love you, too," chansung's saying, his other hand coming up to rest on the crook of junho's neck.

junho rests his forehead on chansung, smiles a little. "this feels familiar," he says.

"i know right?" chansung chuckles and leans up for another kiss, it lingers, warms junho from the inside out.

"does this mean you want to fix things, too?" he asks quietly, and chansung nods, his nose brushing along junho's.

"always will," he answers, just as quiet and gentle, and junho nods back.

"okay," he says, cups chansung's face with both hands, pulls him closer. "Okay."

 

**_the end._ **

 


End file.
